


Pickled Meilooruns

by spaceyquill



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Using the Force for plot devices, food cravings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceyquill/pseuds/spaceyquill
Summary: Hera's slowly adjusting to the limitations as a pregnant pilot in the rebellion, but at least she has Zeb there to help her through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AriesOnMars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesOnMars/gifts).



Hera left a path of opened cupboards in her wake as she rummaged and grumbled through the galley aboard the _Ghost_. They were still well stocked from their resupply half a month ago, but for the past week she’d craved pickled meilooruns strongly enough that she’d checked the galley twice a day on the off chance they’d magically appeared somewhere.

A kick stopped her search, and she pressed a hand to her large belly through her orange pilot suit. Hera, five months pregnant, refused to wear anything but flight suits—she just kept finding suits in wider sizes to accommodate her growing Lasat-Twi’lek baby.

“Jumpy today,” she said with a pat. “You want meilooruns, too?”

Another little kick was enough support, and Hera marched through the _Ghost_ straight into the cockpit. A second later, Sabine pushed her back into the corridor and and barred the doorway with her hands on her hips. Chopper, behind her, mimicked the posture with his thin arms.

“Hera, you know what the medical droid said! No more piloting until after the baby comes!” It was easy for Sabine to be so intent on the matter; she was the one elected to pilot the _Ghost_ in Hera’s place.

“It’s not very far to the nearest neutral space station,” Hera explained calmly, readjusting her pilot suit. “I just wanted to take a quick trip and pick myself up something because there’s nothing in the galley.”

“It’s a seven hour flight!” Sabine said. “And, yes, we _do_ have food in the galley, let’s go.” She spun Hera around by the shoulders and guided her down the corridor, calling over her shoulder, “Guard it, Chop!”

Chopper rendered a sharp salute before closing himself inside the cockpit.

“I was just _in_ the galley,” sighed Hera. “We don’t have _any_ pickled meilooruns!”

Sabine recoiled as they reached the main cabin. “For good reason!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _any_ …” Two purple paws appeared from the cargo hold below as Zeb crawled up the ladder, a satchel hanging from his arm. He happily presented it to Hera after climbing into the room. “Phoenix Squadron made a supply run and I asked them to pick up something.”

Hera flew into the satchel with a determination that would make the ancient hunting Twi’leks of legend proud. The largest smile on her face, she waddled over to the dejarik table to set down her prize—a jar of pickled meiloorun slices swimming in green.

“Thank you, Zeb!” she said, squeezing herself between the couch and the table to open her gift.

With a small noise of disgust, Sabine returned to the cockpit.

“I just called in a favor, s’all,” he replied with a modest shrug.

The rebels had quickly warmed up to the thought of a baby in their cell—the first Phoenix rebellion baby ever. Pilots running scouting missions stopped when they could to bring back things Hera was dying to eat, while up-and-coming officers volunteered daily to take over some of Hera’s responsibilities to give her time to rest.

She twisted off the sealed lid on the first try in nothing short of a feat of strength. “Where’ve you been lately? I hardly saw you this week!”

Pregnancy hadn’t stopped Hera from participating in any of her basic duties. She still attended all rebellion meetings as if nothing had changed, and still tried to be as active in the fight as ever even from behind a terminal. She even continued piloting and leading Phoenix Squadron until Commander Sato himself ordered her grounded when she became too many months along.

“Right,” Zeb said, smile sparking, “that reminds me…”

He dashed off to his cabin and returned with what looked like a miniature replica of his bo rifle. One press of a button and it slid into a staff, purple electricity crackling at both ends.

“I’ve been working on a bo rifle! Scaled to size, of course; perfect for an infant. Look at the little grips!”

“That’s sweet, dear. But we’re not giving our child a weapon,” Hera said, munching on a meiloorun piece.

“Well, sure,” he said, ears drooping as he joined her in the dejarik booth, “not _right_ away… but in a couple years he’ll be fine. Unless it’s a girl. Girl Lasats can pick the bo rifle up after only one year.”

Hera paused halfway through her first pickled fruit to stare at Zeb carefully folding the rifle back up.

“Lasats develop pretty quick,” Zeb explained. “Usually they’re walking within a week after being born.”

“That’s… good to know,” Hera said. Her munching filled the main cabin in the following silence as Hera slipped into her thoughts. She’d had years of experience with children on Ryloth, taking care of her younger family or the sudden orphans from the war when the adults were off fighting in the resistance. But those had all been Twi’lek. She’d never dealt with a bispecies hybrid before.

“How are they?” asked Zeb, watching her inhale her fruit.

“Delicious. Want one?”

“No.” It was a rare moment when Zeb of all people turned down food, but the line was drawn at pickled meilooruns.

“Emergency mission!” Sabine called from the cockpit. She came running into the main cabin, shouting, “Sato ordered Phoenix Squadron to assemble, I’ll be back later guys, bye!” And she was gone, sliding down the ladder into the cargo hold.

Not only had Sabine inherited the position of the main _Ghost_ pilot, she’d also stepped in as temporary leader of the pilot squadron, as well.

Hera munched her snack a little slower, lekku drooping. “It’s been months since they suspended me from flying. I feel useless; I’m not helping anyone here.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Zeb said, scooting closer and running a paw along her back. “Things’ll go back to the way they were soon, just with one extra rebel who’s probably gonna grow into a better pilot than you. Plus you’ve got the rest of the cell here on your side.”

There was a thriving betting pool on when Hera would give birth. With Twi’lek gestation period standing at eight months, and Lasat at seven months, it was anybody’s guess how long until Zeb and Hera’s child was born, and everybody was indeed guessing. It was rumored that Sato himself had been the one to start it, but so far he’d skirted all of Hera’s pointed questions, most recently with "shouldn't you be resting?"

The smallest smile on her face, Hera let Zeb pull her into against his chest where she tucked her head into the soft fur of his neck. He wrapped his arms around her in the most comfortable hug, and times like these, Hera couldn’t remember feeling more safe or warm. She could forget the pressing tasks of the rebellion or the threat of the empire in Zeb's complete embrace. 

A small bump broke the moment.

With a little “oof!” Hera pressed a hand to her belly. “This one’s been kicking more than usual today.”

Zeb laid a furry paw where Hera’s was, ears flicking and smile growing when he felt it.

Another little bump made Hera’s eyes widen as she looked down. “Hang on… now there’s kicking on the opposite side, too. Are Lasats good at stretching?” With Zeb’s paw firm on one side and Hera’s hand on the other, she clearly felt two distinct kicks.

“No… is it a Twi’lek thing? Hitting you with its lekku?”

Hera would’ve scoffed if she’d been listening. A realization clicked in her mind too loudly to hear anything else and she gasped, “Are we having more than one?”

The cell’s medical bay wasn’t equipped with the technology to assist much in the way of Hera’s pregnancy; their droid could only monitor Hera’s health, which continued to be perfectly fine.

Zeb’s ears perked up. “We could ask a Jedi.”

 

Kanan and Ezra were returning from the bleached wilds beyond the safety of the base perimeter—where they often escaped to to train anymore—when Zeb and Hera exited the _Ghost_. The blind Jedi walked more freely now than he had since he started his recovery, but when Ezra was with him, he usually had a hand on his padawan’s shoulder, just as an extra guide.

Zeb beckoned them over.

“This might sound like an odd question,” Hera said, her hands positioned on her belly, “but can you tell how many kids we’re having?”

“Just by looking at you?” Kanan deadpanned. Somehow, the expressions of both Ezra and Zeb fell into the exact same frown of tired exasperation. But Hera would take this new Kanan who embraced humor over the old one who wallowed, lost, for months after his accident. Ezra had helped his master through the worst experience in his life, and now had to bear the brunt of Kanan’s new set of jokes.  

"At least he's not this bad during meditation," Ezra said. 

Zeb paw found Hera’s hand and squeezed it as Kanan reached out to her, sensing. As if in answer, there was a burst of movement, stronger than any kick before, but then it settled.

Kanan tilted his head. “I feel… heartbeats."

Zeb's paw tightened around her hand.

"Three? Four?”

Hera almost collapsed against Zeb, but Kanan smirked. “Just kidding. Only two. You’re having twins guys, congratulations.”

Hera happily folded into Zeb’s hug as she vented a sigh of relief. She was natural with children, but still—a litter would’ve been rough to raise in a profession like hers. Maybe even impossible, even with the combined support of the rebel network. 

Twins would still be a handful, and Hera already predicted the amount of sleep she'd lose, but it was a bursting comfort to think they wouldn't have one child growing up alone in the rebellion with no one else a similar age. 

Zeb parted from Hera with what sounded like a giggle. “I need to start working on a second bo rifle!” And with that, he took off for the _Ghost_.

“Garazeb Orrelios!” Hera called after him. “We are _not_ giving our children weapons!”


End file.
